Reinvention of Life
by FrannyLuvsAll
Summary: A collection of Olicity drabbles, mostly writing exercises and tumblr prompts. Labeled accordingly.
1. Text Me Good Morning, Kiss Me Good Night

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing of Arrow.**_  
>Future AU, established olicity; for my tumblr ladies: smoakingqueenz, abeautyinyourresistance, and mcgeekle <p>

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><p>Oliver Queen is trying and failing to pay attention to the Head of Accounting as she spouts off figures, and words like "strategic infrastructure." He's sitting at the head of an intimidatingly large table inside the main executive conference room of Queen Consolidated, surrounded by women and men who are at the top of their respective corporate games. The seat directly on his right, reserved for the Head of the Applied Sciences Division, is conspicuously empty.<p>

While he is aware of the importance of her recent trip to Central City and Star Labs that has her missing in action for almost a week, he still would have preferred to cancel this meeting than to hold it without her. Not only because he values her input and has for many years, or how ASD was rebuilt from the ground up solely under her direction and bringing QC in to the tech game as a major player. He trusts her implicitly, always has and without her here, doubt ebbs his decision-making. He has seen the looks, those questioning glares tapping small cracks in his confidence. Over the years, he's managed to build a reputation as more than a figurehead, and win the trust of even his most stalwart naysayers. But everything he's accomplished has been as part of a team, especially in the board room where he is the decidedly less competent of their dynamic duo.

Plus, he just really misses his wife.

As if on cue, his phone lights signaling a text message from her. Discreetly, he palms the phone from the table and holds it just out of view. Looking down to his lap, he swipes a finger across the touchscreen.

The picture catches his eye first, and he can't help the slight upturn of his lips.

Even with a month left of her pregnancy, he's still awestruck by her growing bump. Of course, she remains classic Felicity and dressed to quirky perfection from her painted nails to and polka dots to her (albeit more structurally sound) heels. She's been gone for six days, with three remaining and the fingers of his right hand twitch slightly. In this moment, he wants nothing more than to have her beside him; to reach out under the table and caress her stomach, to have her fingers entwine with his and rest over her belly.

When he scrolls down to the accompanying text, he inhales sharply.

_Good morning, Daddy. We love you! _

Oliver Queen never allowed himself to imagine a future where he could be both a hero and a husband, let alone a father. From the moment this remarkable woman came into his life, he had dared to hope. The years wore on and their relationship grew stronger, even when he faltered. He pushed but she pulled. When his back bowed from the weight of past transgressions, hers straightened able to carry the burden. If nightmares threatened her peaceful sleep, he was there with a gentle hand and strong arms. Somewhere along the way, they had carved out this life together. Partners, in every sense. Family, by choice.

He blinked several times as he typed his reply, tears pricking the backs of his eyelids.

_I love you too, my beautiful girls. How are you feeling momma?_

_Eh. Tired this morning. Can't sleep well without you._

He frowns a little at this, typing a reply but then quickly erasing. She has an uncanny knack for detecting his attempts at deceit even through text.

_I know the feeling. I miss you._

He opts for the truth, knowing she will appreciate this more than any attempt at levity.

_3 more days and we'll be home!_

His smile breaks, the soft grin he's always reserved just for her and now for them.

_Can't wait. XOXO_

He wants to ask her to leave early. He hates the board room without her analytical squinting over the rim of her glasses, pointed questions puncturing holes in the well-rehearsed speeches of executives vying for departmental funding or increased staffing. He hates the foundry without her consistent babbling. He hates their home without her laughter. He wants to tell her that more than anything, he hates waking up alone. But, he doesn't. Supporting her dreams is just one of his roles in their partnership. After all, there's no bigger fan of Felicity Smoak-Queen than her husband.

_ME TOOOOOO XOXOXOXXXXXXXXXXX - all of which I will make good on once home. Now pay attention, Mr. Queen! The company won't run itself!_

He looks up then, eyes wandering around the room. A heated debate has broken out over a figures discrepancy in the Administrative Support budget, and he's thankful no one seems to be paying him any attention. If they had, the blush that crept along his collar to the tips of his ears would have given away his increasingly racy thoughts.

_I expect full payment on delivery, Mrs. Smoak-Queen._

Her reply is quick, and short.

_Seriously, Oliver. PAY ATTENTION._

He can see her annoyed glare clearly in his mind, her tone unmistakable even in print.

_I'll call you at lunch._

Placing his phone back on the table, he turns his attention to the meeting.

Another two hours pass, with several presentations and one contentious argument, which needs only a clearing of their CEO's throat with a warning, "gentlemen" to settle. He tries to do as she says and pay attention, to follow each PowerPoint and tactful discourse. At one point, he even attempts to take a few notes.

But he can't seem to focus, instead swiping his finger over his phone every few minutes to glance down at the photo and those six words. Pulling up his email, he quickly types a note to his assistant asking to clear his schedule for the next three days and to book him an afternoon flight to Central City.

He knows she'll be annoyed, might even use her loud voice. However, he's willing to risk her temporary agitation as long as he can kiss them both goodnight.


	2. A Haunted Affair

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing of Arrow**_

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><p>Felicity Smoak loves greeting cards. She spends more time than the average person (at least she thinks so) in choosing the perfect card to send. Sometimes, she'll make a purchase on a whim without anyone in particular in mind if a card catches her eye. There's a box in the second drawer of the desk in her spare room filled with cards she's found over the years. Most of them, she's hesitant to admit, are cards written for lovers or husbands with sentimental declarations and sweet sayings. A few of these cards have been in the box for years, never having found a suitable recipient. To some, this might seem like a desperate act of a single, lonely woman searching for love and marriage but finding only heartache. But for Felicity, these cards give her hope. When she opens the box and peruses through her collection, she allows herself a few quiet moments to imagine the person worthy of them <em>and<em> _her_.

She can see so clearly a Valentine's Day card left next to the coffee pot with her loopy writing across the front, envelope sealed with a bright pink kiss. A "just because I love you" card stuck in the recipient's desk blotter, again with her lips imprinted on the seam. There's a Hanukah card by the menorah, and a Christmas card nestled between the branches of their tree because in their home all traditions are welcome. Perhaps clearest of all is the birthday card, left on his pillow with an inscription of loving words, thankfulness, and gratitude for the life of this person who holds her heart.

For several years now, each time she imagines the envelope there is only one name written across the front.

_Oliver._

Halloween is Felicity's favorite holiday. Costumes, candy, ghouls, and all things delightfully scary have her decorating her apartment the morning of October First. She pulls out her favorite bits and baubles, carefully and thoughtfully arranging them around each room for different effects. She even brings a few small decorations to the lair, a glittery spider for her desk, several painted pumpkins, and a bright orange and black garland to wrap the hand rail for the stairs.

Most importantly, she heads to her favorite card shopping spot to pick out cards for her team. She mails one to John and Lyla, but addressed to "Sara Diggle." There's a fuzzy monster with googly eyes on the front, and she litters the envelope in stickers and tiny ghosts she draws by hand. She mails Roy his, too; and she smiles wide when she sees it taped on the side of his bow's cabinet. After several minutes of internal debate, she decides to send one to Laurel at her office; a simple card that she signs only as "F" and leaves no return address.

For Oliver, she chooses another simple card and plans to leave it near his workstation where he sharpens arrows. He's out for patrol, a quiet night considering Halloween is quickly approaching; and she stands with envelope in hand. Just as she's made her way past the med table, there's a commotion over the comms.

Three hours later, he's sitting on that table with his legs dangling as she stiches up a half-inch deep knife wound just under his ribcage. The card lays forgotten on her desk and is eventually thrown out with the discarded packaging of the supplies she used and had strewn about haphazardly in the rush to get him patched.

Not until the morning of Halloween does she remember his card, and for the life of her, she just isn't sure if she left it at his workstation as intended or not. Although, knowing Oliver as she does, she is positive he would have mentioned it. Thanked her, with those soft eyes and almost smile that never fails to cause her breath to hitch.

Standing in her bathroom, she looks herself over once in the mirror and adds the finishing touch to her outfit: a small pair of cartoonish pumpkin earrings. Feeling uneasy about not remembering Oliver's card, the thought crosses her mind that the selection at any store will mostly be picked over. There's nothing worse than having to choose a blank card and write in a sentiment to let a person know you didn't have the time to spend in selecting anything special. For whatever reason, her box of cards flashes into her mind. And one card in particular sticks in her memory most.

They've tried this before and it ended in tears and distance, months of repair work to maintain some semblance of their partnership. They are in a good place, her and Oliver. There is no need to change the status quo. Except, she purchased this particular card the year before, just a week prior to their disaster date. The Halloween cards had made their way to stores at the tail end of summer. This one had caught her eye and with how well their relationship had been progressing at the time, it felt like a flirtatious dare. One that would pay off, she was sure.

But that was then. That was before. But, maybe...

"It's time to be brave, Smoak." She encourages her reflection, and she's moving toward the spare room and the card box in the desk before she has a chance to talk herself out of it. The card is inscribed and signed, sealed with her pink lips. She slips it into her purse, and heads out to work feeling for the first time in months like she's stepping into a promising unknown.

He's in the shower when she grabs her bag and heads out for the night, leaving the card in clear view.

Almost an hour passes before he notices the orange envelope with his name written in her familiar scrawl across the front. There's a slight flutter in his chest that he tries to ignore, but the flutter increases to a hard pounding when he turns the card over to open it. The pair of bright pink lips stare back at him, and he slides his finger under the seal with an excitement he hasn't felt in months but _oh,_ _has he missed_.

The front of the card has a black and white photograph of a creepy house surrounded by flying bats with a caption that reads:

**I THINK WE SHOULD PLAY HAUNTED HOUSE**

When he opens the card, he swallows hard and his mouth falls open slightly. The inside caption is enough of an innuendo itself:

**IT INVOLVES A LOT OF SCREAMING AND MOANING**

But it's her words written in that leave him stunned. He follows the lines of her decidedly feminine writing, reading then re-reading:

_And by screaming and moaning, I mean the adult kind…_

_Just wanted to be clear…_

_In case this wasn't…_

_Clear._

_Very clear. _

Her named is signed underneath, with a heart surrounding the capital "F." And then:

_P.S. My bed is more comfortable than your cot._

_P.P.S. You have an apartment now. You need a real bed._

_P.P.S.S. Bring candy corn. _

His mind immediately begins to race. This is a step forward. No, not a step. A giant leap. He's not sure the timing is right; and there's been no discussion of moving past their current status of friendship, even though he won't deny that he's thought about it every day since her break up with Ray Palmer almost six months prior.

But his feet start to move of their own accord because apparently his heart and not his mind are directing his bodily functions. He's racing up the stairs, the most important concern he has is probably the least of his actual worries.

_Where the hell is he going to find a store open that sells candy corn at this hour?_

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><p>Author's Note: inspired by an actual greeting card I found at CVS, and the accompanying group text with my Arrow ladies: smoakingqueez, abeautyinyourresistance, and mcgeekle. Previously posted on tumblr.<p> 


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